The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell
by christmasinacup
Summary: Joan may be an addict, but she has never gone this far. Dealing with how broken she is hurts more than what broke her, and she has to come to terms with what she has done. Some Arthur x Joan. **Warning: heavy stuff, including self-harm.


Joan woke up in a hospital bed, with the sun rising in a window beside her. She was covered in a thin layer of sweat, with strands of blonde hair stuck to her forehead. Her throat was dry and aching, and she was freezing cold.

She slowly took in her surroundings, until her gaze landed on a familiar face.

"Meg?" Her voice was hoarse; she barely recognized it. She thought that this was some sort of trippy déjà vu flashback from the nineties, until Meg reached out to squeeze her hand.

"Joanie. I came as soon as I could."

"What are you doing here?," Joan whispered.

"I was visiting my brother in Long Island when I got a call from Arthur saying you had relapsed and were in the hospital. I got on the train and came right here."

Joan took in this information, still confused. She blinked a few times, still trying to process everything.

"Where is Arthur? Is he okay?"

Meg looked worried, and she put her hand on Joan's cheek. It had dawned on her that Joan had no idea why she was in a hospital bed.

"He just stepped out to talk to the nurse and get some coffee. Do you remember how you got here?"

"No," Joan admitted, developing an interest in a loose thread on her scratchy hospital blanket. "I'm guessing I took a few too many pills."

Meg sighed and rubbed her temples.

"You overdosed, Joan. You took almost half a bottle. They had to pump your stomach the second you arrived."

Joan closed her eyes, ashamed. She opened them again slowly, studying Meg's face. There was more.

"Meg…"

Meg bit her lip and moved her chair closer to where Joan's head rested. "Joanie…" she started gently, as if she was afraid Joan was about to vanish into thin air. "You, um… well, at least now you can wear sleeves to work, like I always tell you to."

Meg's default when things were really, _really_ bad was to try and lighten the mood, so Joan knew something was very wrong. Her eyes traveled to her left arm, where there was a large bandage, almost 6 inches long. She lifted the gauze slowly, and what she saw horrified her. There were three deep gashes, almost completely straight, on her wrist. There was only a little dried blood on the bandaged, leading Joan to assume that it had been changed recently, and that it wasn't the first, or maybe even second, wrapping.

Joan gaped and looked up at Meg, an unmistakable look of pain on her face.

"How long have I been out?," she asked, her voice raspy and just above a whisper. It was all she could manage, between the lump growing her throat and all the other pain.

"30, maybe 36 hours," Meg whispered. "I don't know how long you were asleep before Arthur called me, but it was the night before last."

Tears started to roll down Joan's face and she placed the bandage back in its place. She lay back against the pillows and wept, Meg squeezing her hand.

"Joanie, I hate to pile on the bad news, but you should know something," Meg said slowly. It hurt her to say those words just as much as it hurt Joan to hear them. "Arthur didn't tell me himself because I don't think he's accepted it yet, but I overheard a nurse telling him this morning that they want to keep you overnight for evaluation once you woke up."

Joan's eyes shot open and she felt dizzy. When Meg said she had more bad news, Joan was expecting Meg to say that Annie had gotten herself and Eyal Lavin blown up, or that Henry Wilcox had gotten himself out of jail and somehow gotten the DCS job back out of pity.

Her heart sank and she grew even colder with fear. They were going to lock her up? She didn't think her career, or her marriage for that matter, could handle it.

Meg looked sad. "Joanie, you'll get through this, okay? I'm here for you, and so is Arthur."

Always one for impeccable timing, Arthur walked through the door, running his hand through his short hair. He was wearing a dark green sweater and jeans, and looked frustrated. But all that melted away when he saw Joan.

"Joan! Oh, honey, you're awake!" He ran to the bed and pulled Joan into his arms, kissing her hair. "Thank god. I was so worried."

Meg mumbled something about giving them space, then got up and left the room. Arthur pulled away from Joan and saw the tears running down her face. He used his thumb to wipe them away.

"Oh, honey, it's okay. You're okay."

Joan shook her head and continued to cry. "No, I'm not," she whispered. "Are you really going to let them throw me in a mental hospital?"

Arthur looked at her, shocked. But then he remembered. "Meg," he said quietly. "Of course." It helped Joan out to have a best friend who was an expert spy.

"Sweetheart, listen," he said, cupping her cheek. "I don't like it any more than you do. But it's just an overnight evaluation. I'm not going to let anything happen."

"Just don't let them take me away from you," Joan whispered, throwing her arms around him. "I need you."

Arthur nodded and held her close. "Me too."

After a few minutes, they broke apart, and Arthur settled down next to Joan, on top of the covers. He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a few minutes to calm down.

"Arthur... what happened?," Joan asked quietly. She looked at him and saw his deep blue eyes cloud with pain. He sighed and then turned to face her.

"I got home from work to find you on the kitchen floor. There was an almost-empty pill bottle on the counter, and bloody knife in the sink. You were just lying there, barely breathing, blood pooling around your arm… your lips were purple, and you were so pale that for a moment I thought…" he trailed off. They both knew what he was about to say.

"I called 911, they pumped your stomach when you got here, and then I was told you might be asleep for a few days. The doctors said that you wouldn't wake up until you were properly hydrated through the IV, and that you had lost a lot of blood. They did a transfusion, just in case, and yesterday they showed me the toxicology results. Honey, you took almost 6 times the normal dose of antidepressants, and enough painkillers to knock out a horse." Joan felt horrible as she watched her husband fight back tears. He never cried. And she had caused him to. How could she be so selfish?

"No wonder I'm on suicide watch," Joan muttered, mentally slapping herself. Arthur froze at the word, and she immediately regretted it.

"I mean… I didn't..."

"But you don't know, do you? What do you remember?," he asked carefully, not wanting to upset either of them. She sighed.

"You said you might stay in a hotel, Annie and I had a yelling match about her going to Bluebonnet…. everything just felt dark. I thought I was losing everyone I cared about."

"Oh, sweetheart," Arthur kissed her forehead. "You will never lose me, okay?"

Joan nodded. Arthur smiled softly and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"I'm going to go let a nurse know that you're awake so they can do what they need to do and you can come home," he whispered. "Meg hasn't been anywhere but the hospital, so I'm going to set her up in the guest bedroom. I'll be back tomorrow morning to pick you up, okay?"

Joan nodded again, scared that if she looked into her husband's eyes, she would lose it again.

"I love you," she whispered. "And I am so sorry."

Arthur kissed her lips, and then stood up. "I love you too."

xxxx

Joan fell back asleep shortly after Arthur left, and when she woke again, a doctor was waiting beside her bed, with a nurse near the door. She was tall, with dark curly hair in a ponytail and bright green eyes.

"Hi, Joan, I'm Dr. Davidson. I'll be doing your psych eval."

Joan nodded and sighed, slowly pushing herself up. She held her hand out, and a few IV cords came with it. Dr. Davidson just smiled and shook Joan's hand. She looked younger than Joan, by at least 7 or 8 years.

"Let me take you up to my office. We'll talk for a while, take a few tests, and then you can sleep in a private room."

"Okay," Joan said slowly. She pushed her covers off and slid her feet around to the side of the bed. The nurse, one Joan didn't recognize, came over, pushing a wheelchair. Joan's eyes flashed to Dr. Davidson, who smiled reassuringly.

"You've had quite a rough time. Just relax."

Joan was suspicious, but she got in the chair and let Dr. Davidson push her down the hall to an elevator, where they rode up 6 floors. When they got off, Joan saw a plaque that said 'Psychiatric Ward. Offices Rooms .' She still couldn't believe this was happening.

They went to the right, where the offices were. Dr. Davidson's was the third one down. She wheeled Joan in and Joan observed her new surroundings. Sometimes, focusing on details distracted her from the bigger picture.

The walls were light blue with a few framed credentials, a calendar with pictures of flowers, and framed picture of a little boy who looked about 8 or 9. The desk was neat, and there were two armchairs and a couch. Dr. Davidson motioned to the couch, so Joan got up and sat on it.

"So, Joan. How are you?"

Joan cracked a tiny smile. "Um, okay. I just woke up to find out that I slashed my wrist and took a ton of pills. Pretty selfish."

Dr. Davidson nodded. "Do you know why you did that?"

Joan shook her head. "Not really, no. I mean, not this incident specifically."

"But you remember why you have done similar things before?"

Joan nodded. "Yes."

"Have you harmed yourself before, or has it just been pills?"

Joan bit her lip, which told the doctor everything it needed to. Arthur didn't even know, but Joan had cut herself before. Small cuts, mostly on her thighs, that she had passed on as old battle wounds the few times he noticed. But never as deep as this.

"I have cut myself before, but never this severely," Joan said slowly, letting go of her last deep, dark secret.

"Why? What do the pills and the cutting do for you?" Dr. Davidson wasn't being accusatory or patronizing. She was just asking simple questions, like they were talking about the weather. Joan appreciated not being treated like she was a dangerous mix of fragile and volatile.

"They take away some of the pain," Joan said, her voice getting quieter. "They make me feel like I control how I… how I feel, when it seems like I don't at all."

"I see," Dr. Davidson said, writing something down in her notebook. "What are some of the emotions you have that you feel you don't control?"

"Panic. Insecurity. Fear," Joan admitted, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "It's hard to have the job I have. I need to show complete control at all times, not let anyone be able to speculate that my decisions are driven by my emotions."

Dr. Davidson nodded. "You should know that I am cleared by the Agency, Joan, if you want to go deeper."

Joan was surprised. She didn't know that the CIA cleared psychiatrists at the hospital. The ones they had usually worked in the building or had private practices. Dr. Davidson noticed her surprise and smiled.

"Yes, I've done this before on operatives. I know most Agency-cleared doctors are in the private sector, but I don't have time to run my own office and take care of my son." She glanced over at the framed picture on the wall and smiled. "We pick and choose our battles, you know?"

"I seem to always pick the wrong ones," Joan mumbled. She still felt an incredible amount of guilt for what she put Arthur through.

"My husband... when I saw the look on his face after I woke up… I put him through hell, and I feel horrible. He and I have a lot of problems differentiating work from our life at home, but I love him more than anything in the world. I just can't seem to open up all the way, let him in."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I wish I knew," Joan admitted. "Half the time, I wonder if it's my fault, for working myself so hard. But sometimes I think it has to do with my father…"

"Was he an addict?"

"I don't know. I never knew him very well. He left when I was young, about 6 or 7. My older sisters wouldn't tell me much about him, just that we could tough it out on our own. My mom, and us three girls."

"Are you still close with your family?," Dr. Davidson asked, smiling kindly. Joan shrugged.

"Not a lot. I still email with my sisters and talk on the phone, but the one who is lives closest is Jessica. She's 5 years younger than me, and she lives with her 2 kids and husband in upstate New York. My two older sisters, Annabelle and Dianna, live on the West Coast. And my mom lives in Portland."

"Why did you guys grow apart?"

"I don't know… growing up, I always felt like something made me different from them. All my sisters were prom queens, straight-A students, and knockout gorgeous. I was awkward and quiet, and I spent all my time in the library. I didn't fit in," Joan said, sighing. "I'm not going to throw a pity party, but sometimes I wished I was more like them, but I always thought maybe it was because I had my dad's traits. Anne and Dianna both had my mom's beauty queen looks and love of socializing, as did Jessica."

Dr. Davidson nodded. "Well, maybe your father was an addict, and had some of those qualities you find in yourself that feel foreign when compared to your family. Did you ever try to find him?"

Joan shook her head. "No. By the time I graduated high school, I had accepted that if my father cared about me, he would have come back. I made my peace with it long ago."

"That's good. Digging up the past will only hurt, not help at this point."

Joan smiled. "I agree. Do you think I can change into some clothes now? Hospital gowns are not very stylish."

The doctor laughed. "Yes. Your husband gave one of the nurses a bag right after you came up here... it's a room on the other side of this wing."

Joan nodded. "How long do I have to stay here?"

"As long as it takes," Dr. Davidson said. Joan tried to hold back the eye roll, but the doctor caught it. She smiled.

"I know, it's cliché, right? How about this: originally, we only wanted you overnight, but I would like a few more days to really figure out what's going on with you. Think you can give me a week or so to do that?"

Joan just sighed. She wanted to go home, not be stuck in some twisted version of "28 Days." But she was smart enough to know that being compliant and obedient was going to get her out a lot faster than making a fuss. She stood up and walked down the hall to the room where her bag was. It sat on a bed, in a room that looked like a cross between a hospital room and a suite at the Holiday Inn. She sat down on the bed and unzipped the lavender tote bag, immediately smelling Arthur's cologne.

She changed into a pair of yoga pants, a blue t-shirt, and a Penn sweatshirt. She was digging around for a hairbrush when she came across a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it, and her eyes scanned across the lines of her husband's familiar handwriting.

_Dear Joan, _

_ I know this is hard for you, but please, try to make the best of it. There is nothing more frightening than the idea of losing you, and I have never been so close to one of my deepest fears as I was when I saw you lying on the kitchen floor. I love you more than anything in this world, and I can't wait until you're home in my arms again. I promise, that day will come sooner than you might think. Promise me you'll try to get better, and know that I wish I could be there with you. _

_Love, _

_Arthur_

_PS - Meg and I are sitting around the house missing you and playing Scrabble, since we know the chance to play without you kicking our asses is rare. _

Joan let herself curl up on top of the covers and cry for a few minutes before wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath. She was going to put in the time, do the work, and get the hell out of the hospital.

xxxx

Three days later, Joan sat in Dr. Davidson's office yet again. They did this every day – talk about her past, speculate about the roots of her addiction. Joan had come to only dislike their sessions, instead of loathe them.

"Okay, Joan. I think we need to lay off the heavy stuff for a while."

Joan actually smiled, for the first time in the last few days. "Finally!"

Dr. Davidson smiled too. "Don't get too excited. We are going to do a lighting round – get you to loosen up, and let me know more about you as a person."

Joan nodded, ready for the challenge.

"Favorite sport?"

"Tennis. And my husband as gotten me into baseball."

"Food?"

"Hmm… pasta."

"Color?"

"Blue. Or pink."

"Holiday?"

"Christmas." Joan smiled again. This was actually kind of fun.

"You go," she challenged her doctor, shifting to sit cross-legged on the couch. She tugged on the hem of her red long sleeve t-shirt. Dr. Davidson smiled.

"Okay… favorite sport is hockey, favorite food is anything Chinese, favorite color is green, and favorite holiday is Valentine's Day."

Joan nodded in approval. After a few moments of silence, Dr. Davidson cleared her throat.

"Joan, I want you to now that I see no reason for you to go home by tomorrow morning."

Joan's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes." The doctor nodded. "Do you feel ready to leave?"

Joan nodded, twirling a strand of long blonde hair on her finger. "Yes. I just want to go home and be with my husband and my best friend."

"That's wonderful, but do you feel ready mentally and emotionally?"

Joan bit her lip. "Umm... yes. I do."

"Really?" Dr. Davidson was looking at her kindly, but Joan felt like she was being judged. Neither woman said anything for a few minutes, then Joan broke the silence.

"No," she admitted. "But I don't think I will ever be. That's part of the process, right? No one is ever ready to leave a place they know will keep them safe. I just have to take the plunge."

"Joan, I'm very proud of you," Dr. Davidson said, smiling. "You're exactly right. And you think you're ready to take that plunge?"

Joan nodded vigorously. "Yes."

"Now, I have to ask, have you been experiencing withdrawals?"

"Not really," Joan said worriedly. She bit her lip. "Should I be?"

"It depends on how frequently you were taking your pills. From what you've told me, it seems like it was not a daily occurrence, and there was no real pattern. You should be fine, but let me know if anything changes."

Joan smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Davidson."

"You're welcome. I think that's all we have left to do," Dr. Davidson said with a smile, standing up. She held her hand out to Joan.

"It's been a pleasure getting to know you, Joan."

Joan shook the doctor's hand. "If I wanted to continue my therapy with you, instead of a different Agency-sanctioned doctor, could I?"

"Yes, absolutely," Dr. Davidson said warmly. "We can meet here once a week, and I can start you on a different anti-depressant medication in a few weeks, after the dust has settled."

"Great," Joan said. She felt relieved. Now she could go home, be with Meg and Arthur, and sleep in her own bed. She walked towards the hallway.

"So, how does this work?"

"I fill out discharge paperwork, the psychiatric desk approves it and calls your husband, he picks you up tomorrow. And I will send you an email regarding our next appointment."

"Perfect," Joan smiled a genuine smile, one that had been absent from her face for quite some time. Dr. Davidson smiled back.

"And Joan?"

Joan stuck her head back in the office. "Yes?"

"Emily."

Joan looked confused, and Dr. Davidson laughed. "My name. "Doctor" sounds so formal, and I want you to feel comfortable around me."

Joan nodded. "Thanks. See you next week."

xxxx

Joan woke up the next morning and stared around her dreary psych ward bedroom. She couldn't even describe how _good _it felt to know she was going home. She got up and eagerly brushed her teeth, then dressed in jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt. She was sitting on the bed, counting the squares in the checkered pattern on the bedspread.

There was a knock on the doorframe and someone cleared their throat.

"Mrs. Campbell?"

Joan looked up and suddenly felt a warm feeling in her chest. Arthur was standing in the doorway next to a nurse. He was wearing jeans, a t-shirt with the navy's insignia, and a leather jacket. His blue eyes light up, and he held his arms out.

"Arthur!"

Joan jumped up and threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly.

"Hey," he chuckled, kissing her hair. "I've missed you."

Joan just nodded, refusing to let go. Arthur chuckled again and turned to the nurse.

"Is there anything I need to sign?"

xxxx

The second Arthur opened the front door to the house, Meg came flying out of it. She threw her arms around Joan and hugged her for a good 45 seconds, while Arthur set down Joan's overnight bag in the foyer. Joan grinned at Meg when they broke apart.

"Hey."

"I'm glad you're home, Joanie." Meg put her arm around Joan's shoulders and they walked into the living room.

"Me too," Joan said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Arthur smiled at both women.

"Can I order you ladies some dinner? Chinese?"

They nodded and grinned.

"Chicken chow mein for Meg," Joan said, that twinkle in her eye returning after weeks of pain. Arthur nodded and leaned in to kiss her forehead. He went into the kitchen to find the number for the Chinese takeout place, and Joan turned to Meg.

"So, how many board games did you beat Arthur at?"

Meg laughed. "Lots. It was fun."

"I'm glad you stayed while I was in the hospital," Joan said, squeezing her friend's hand. "But you have to leave soon, right?"

Meg nodded, looking a little sad. "Barcelona, tomorrow morning."

Joan nodded. She knew Meg, and this was how she lived her life. Blowing in the wind, from one mission to the next.

"Well, I'm glad you could be here," Joan said, smiling warmly. "And I expect a postcard."

"I'm always here for you," Meg grinned. "And I never fail to send a postcard, do I?"

Joan laughed and shook her head. "No. Never."

Meg hugged Joan and they sat there on the couch for a while. The hardest thing about being such a dedicated field spy was missing people, and Joan was used to it by now. But saying goodbye to Meg never got easier. So for now, she just enjoyed the company of her best friend.

xxxx

"HA! I win!"

Joan collapsed onto the porch, panting. Her makeup-free skin was clear, and her blue-gray eyes were bright. Her bright pink tank top was soaked with sweat, and her ponytail was slightly tangled.

"Barely," Arthur panted, plopping down next to her on the porch. He winked at her.

'Those little black running shorts distracted me," he protested, glancing down at her legs.

Joan laughed and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I thought they might."

It had been 2 weeks since Joan's hospital stay, and she was taking it slow. Shorter work days, runs with Arthur every weekend, and meetings with the Agency's addiction group every other day.

"So, darling, how are you feeling?," Arthur asked, taking her hand in his. She smiled at him.

"Better," she said softly. "But it's going to take a while."

"Hey, you went through a lot," Arthur said, squeezing her hand. "And I'm proud of you. I wish I could have done more."

"Oh, Arthur," Joan sighed. She looked into his eyes. "I still feel so awful about it all. You didn't deserve to find me like that, I should have told you what was wrong, not closed myself off. I don't think I can ever forgive myself for the pain I put you through."

Arthur moved closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. He kissed her hair.

"No, sweetheart, don't say that, please. I can't even imagine how hard it was for you. You're a fighter, you really are. I just want you to let me help you in the future, okay?"

Joan nodded. "Yes, I promise. Cross my heart, and all that jazz."

Arthur chuckled and leaned in, placing a kiss on her lips.

"Mhhmm... honey, I love you, but you're sweaty," Joan whispered. Arthur laughed.

"Well, my dear, as much as I love you, you're a little smelly too. Shower?"

Joan nodded, hugging Arthur's arm as they stood up and walked into the house. She was still on shaky ground, but slowly repairing herself, with the help of Arthur, Dr. Davidson, Meg, and the group at the Agency. She wasn't fully together yet, but she was getting there.

* * *

A David Bowie song for the title felt fitting, and following CA season 3 tradition ;) I hope you guys enjoyed this, I liked writing it. I wanted to show how Joan's relapse could really effect her emotionally, and I wanted to bring Meg back! Please review with your feedback!

Oh, I always give Joan's sisters different names in different fics….oops.


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